


Conduit

by round_robin



Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Canon-typical bathing, Come Shot, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Love Bites, M/M, Magic, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Voyeurism, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23557765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Geralt lifted his hands to Jaskier's hips, not pulling, simply holding. “You spoil me,” he said. “Why shouldn't I return the favor?”Eskel's hand trailed up the back of his shoulder and the other Witcher grunted in reply. “Exactly my thinking. I can't wait until we're done here, then Geralt and I can show our gratitude.”A shiver ran down Jaskier's spine and he almost dropped the cloth in the bath. “Oh... don't distract me.”
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687699
Comments: 93
Kudos: 1342
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	Conduit

**Author's Note:**

> I think there will be five parts total in this series. the last fic will be a longer one, so it might take a while (but all I have right now is time, so who knows).
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this series, I'm having a lot of fun writing it and all the lovely comments make me so happy, and I need happiness right now. As usual, all mistakes are mine, let me know if you locate a typo. Please enjoy.
> 
> Also, I'm back on tumblr as round--robin, if anyone is interested.

Before they fully entered the pub, Geralt sniffed the air coming through the open door. Jaskier had seen him do this a lot—checking the scene using all of his available senses before making his decision. He wished he had the same talent, but given the... unwashed clientele in most pubs on the Continent, maybe Jaskier's human nose was a blessing.

Instead of striding straight inside, Geralt froze in the door. “Eskel?” he mumbled.

“Eskel?” Jaskier repeated. He tried to duck under Geralt's arm to get a better look. A familiar head of dark hair and a handsome face covered in a twist of scars met his eyes. “Eskel!” Pushing past Geralt, Jaskier ran over to the corner table, sliding onto the bench seat next to him. Geralt, who was much better at hiding his emotions, slowly made his way over, pretending nothing was amiss here... just two Witchers greeting each other.

He sat opposite Eskel and kicked Jaskier under the table. _Too close_ , his eyes screamed.

Jaskier, who was all but plastered against Eskel's side, suddenly noticed... “Uh, yes. Sorry,” he whispered. Sliding back, he moved away to a socially acceptable distance, but his eyes still shined like a country swain gazing upon a fair maiden. “What are you doing here? We didn't expect to run into you, Geralt said you usually travel farther South than he does.”

Eskel nodded. “I'm on my way South, stopped in town for the food and supplies.” Under the table, a firm hand squeezed Jaskier's leg before pulling away. “And you?” Eskel turned his attention to Geralt. Both Witchers held themselves in their usual stiff and brooding manner, but sitting so close, Jaskier saw the softness in their eyes as they looked at one another. What he wouldn't give to take them both up to a room and watch them ravish each other, maybe with himself sandwiched in between for a round or two.

“Heading towards a big contract,” Eskel said. “Might need help.” He caught Geralt's eye and they both smirked.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Want to head South?” Jaskier could barely contain his delight.

They ate their food quickly and gathered supplies, then headed out of town together. While Jaskier half expected to walk between the Witchers as they let the horses rest a little more, Geralt pulled him up into the saddle, sitting Jaskier in front of him. He whispered in the bard's ear, “If I have to watch you and Eskel walk, it won't be long before your shapely ass drives me wild. When we're a little farther in the woods...”

Eskel smirked, hearing Geralt's whispered words. “Better fucking believe it,” he mumbled under his breath.

They set off, swapping stories about the last few months, what each Witcher had encountered since they all parted. Eskel laughed when Geralt told him of a contract near Rivia where a fearsome kelpie turned out to be an infestation of pond weed. Geralt cleared the slightly poisonous fungi and collected the bounty. “I tried to tell them,” he said. “The deaths were from the toxic air, not a fucking water horse stealing people's breath. They didn't believe me.”

“It's not that they didn't believe you,” Jaskier said. “They _wanted_ to pay you. It's the first time I've seen a town want to give you its coin. A refreshing change, really.”

Eskel grunted. “It's all favoritism. Geralt took their name and their accent, opening himself up to more scorn. Even humans can't ignore that. If I showed up and completed that contract, you bet they would've quartered the price.”

“No, they would've paid,” Geralt said. Eyes flashed over to Eskel. “You're nicer than the average Witcher, Rivia appreciates that.”

“Oh, you two.” Jaskier leaned back into Geralt, holding back the urge to nuzzle against him. “I love you so.”

With the summer days growing longer, they made camp well before sunset. Geralt steered them off the road and found a clearing for them to settle in, surrounded by trees, it was open, yet secluded. He was good at finding places like that.

“Hmm, no stream.” Jaskier was used to the idyllic camping locations. They were beautiful and spoke to the poet in him, but he'd trade all the views and beautiful sunsets for a stream, especially now that he had two Witchers to _entertain_. “Eskel, when was your last bath?” Jaskier knew Geralt's bathing schedule (since it was he who did the washing, pressing kisses all over clean skin, wringing such unmanly noises from the big, brooding Witcher) and it had been three days for him. If Eskel was any further gone... Jaskier loved them both dearly, but he drew the line at going down on a cock that smelled like a barn.

“Why should that matter?” Eskel asked.

“He wants to fuck,” Geralt said as he took care of the horses. “So do I. Too much road dirt and sweat takes him... out of the mood.”

“Mmm, yes, thank you for putting it so delicately.” Jaskier shook his head and helped Geralt unpack their things from Roach's saddle bags. Neither noticed when Eskel stood in the middle of the clearing, staring at them both like a scandalized mother in law.

Finally, Geralt stopped, noticing Eskel's glare. “What's wrong?”

“You...” A wave of anger rolled off Eskel, Geralt stepped back a little when he felt it. Even Jaskier saw the change, saw his hands tensing, eyes darting between them, the scars on his face twisted in a scowl.

“Eskel?” Jaskier kept his voice soft, extending an arm out towards the Witcher. He didn't touch, just waited. Jaskier had seen Geralt in a state enough times to know: Eskel had to come to him.

Eskel took Jaskier's hand and pulled him in close, still glaring at Geralt. He sputtered a few more times before finally getting out: “You fuck him in the middle of the woods like this?” His eyes roved around the clearing, nice yes, but they were still standing in the fucking wilderness, where anyone or anything might set upon them. How did Geralt not see the risks here?

Before Geralt had a chance to defend their travels, Jaskier brushed a hand down the side of Eskel's face, stroking his scars and pulling his attention in. “We live our life on The Path. You know Geralt understands the risks and so do I. We protect each other. Besides...” He touched Eskel's scars again, lips itching it kiss them. “If I had to wait for an inn every time I wanted Geralt, I would be a very unhappy man.”

“Yes.” Geralt came up behind Jaskier, pressing him between the two of them, but his gaze was for Eskel alone. “Can you imagine an undersexed bard? I'd never hear the end of it.” Jaskier rolled his eyes but accepted the kiss Geralt placed on his neck.

Eskel kissed Jaskier as well, then touched his forehead to Geralt's, sharing their breath. “Both of you deserve so much more.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, Geralt and Eskel lost in each other's eyes, Jaskier happily squished between them. With his position between their chests, he noticed right away when their breathing synchronized, two hearts beating the same slow cadence. Jaskier didn't think it possible to be more in love with any of his wolves, and here he was, falling deeper down a well he never wanted to escape.

The moment passed and Eskel was the first to pull away. “I guess this is as good a time as any then. I don't know what else I've saved it for.”

Geralt turned his head sharply, zeroing in on Eskel's saddle bags. “You mean that magic isn't from you?”

The other Witcher smirked. “No, it's not.”

While Jaskier was aware sorceresses and mages noticed Eskel's magical aura, Geralt's attention to it was new. The medallions detected magic, yes, but Geralt tuned into its exact location. Was he that sensitive to it, or was he simply keyed in to Eskel? So many things he still didn't know about his wolves...

Jaskier craned his neck to see what Eskel had in his saddle bags but Geralt held him back. Unknown magic was still unknown, even in Eskel's hands, and Geralt was cautious enough for all of them.

He returned to them with a small bundle of canvas in one hand, two wooden stakes in the other. “A tent?” Jaskier said.

Geralt felt the magic pouring off the item and peered closer, sniffing the air. Not quite lilac and gooseberries, but close. “It's magic,” he said.

“Yes, it is. I took care of a contract for Keira Metz a few seasons ago. Along with my payment, she gave me this, muttered about how she wanted to give it to Lambert, but they lost touch.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. “You took something other than coin as payment? Eskel, how naughty...”

Eskel snapped his teeth playfully. “I got paid like the code demands, dear White Wolf. This was a bonus. It's not even that good anymore, it only has three or so charges left in it.” He regarded the folded up tent in his hands and smiled. “This feels like the best use for the last of the spell.”

Finding a good spot, Eskel set up the tent. Jaskier knew he was a very skilled man with many talents... but pitching tents—real ones, not in other's trousers—didn't appear to be one of them. The brown canvas leaned to the side a little, the wooden stakes barely standing up. It looked like a stiff wind would send the whole thing flying across the clearing.

Jaskier sighed. “Well, you don't want to take me outside, and I suppose that counts as... inside. Of sorts.”

But Geralt and Eskel were both eyeing the tent like it was the fucking golden cunt of Melitele her divine self. Geralt's hand slid down to squeeze Jaskier's ass, copping a feel and spurring him forward at the same time. “You're going to enjoy this,” he said. Jaskier always enjoyed sex with Geralt and Eskel, tent or no tent, so he followed Eskel under the sinking canvas.

Jaskier stood up and almost swooned. The inside of the tent greatly belied it's humble exterior. Thick, dark canvas walls blocked out the light of the setting sun, but it wasn't dark inside. Several candelabras were placed around the room, along with a roaring fire in a marble hearth, a large copper tub—big enough for the three of them, Jaskier was keen to note—and the most luxurious bed Jaskier had ever seen. All of it done up in shades of deep serpent green and silvery white. A table laid with proper cutlery and a full meal put the cherry on top and Jaskier did swoon, his knees giving way under his weight.

Geralt caught him and pinned him to his side. “Having second thoughts about the tent?”

“Yes, very much so.” He looked around again, taking in every little detail: the white goat skin rug in front of the fire, oh how Geralt would look on top of that, white hair fanned out like a halo; the sturdy wooden posts on the bed, perfect for holding while Geralt fucked him, Eskel a casual observer in the bath; on and on and on, Jaskier thought of all the things he wanted to do in this room.

“How long until we reach the contract?” he asked softly.

Eskel shrugged. “Three days.”

“I see.” Three days' travel, three nights left in the spell... “If you two don't fuck me into the beyond before we reach wherever the hell we're going, I will consider this a wasted journey.”

A dark chuckle rumbled near his ear and Jaskier almost jumped. “Why do you think we made camp early?” Eskel purred.

Four hands pulled at Jaskier's clothes—Geralt unbuttoning his doublet, Eskel attacking the ties of his breeches—and for a moment, he was happy to be manhandled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of road dirt at Geralt's neck and the true reason for this tent popped back into his mind.

“Wait!” He flailed a little to bat them away but their hands had already retreated. “Bath first! We have a bath! I'm scouring you two from head to toe before you climb on top of me.”

“Mmm, fine.” Geralt pressed one last kiss against Jaskier's neck before pulling away. Jaskier sat on the bed to watch Geralt and Eskel take off their armor.

When Geralt removed his own armor, he was all efficient movements, quick tugs at buckles and ties. But together with Eskel... oh, Jaskier never expected something like this. Moving almost in tandem, they unbuckled each other's sword belts and set them aside before moving on to gauntlets, pauldrons, and gambesons until they were both stripped to the waist. They might be dirty and a bit smelly, but the sight of the two together always took Jaskier's breath away.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Eskel and Eskel pushed him away. “I can get my own breeches, thanks.” Stepping back from each other—but never glancing away—they took off their muddy boots and finally stripped the last of it, leaving two gloriously naked wolves. _And they're all mine_ , Jaskier thought.

Shaking out of his daze, he stood up from the bed. “Excellent, into the bath.” This was either going to be the quickest bath he ever gave, or the longest, Jaskier hadn't decided which pleased him more.

As they crossed the truly enormous tent, Eskel snagged Jaskier's hand, pulling him along with them. “There's room for all of us.”

“Oh yes,” Geralt agreed. “He does his best work sitting between your legs.”

Jaskier wasn't sure if that was a joke about his sweet mouth, or an actual compliment on his skills as a glorified Witcher attendant. He decided both. “If you insist.” He waited until both entered the water—one at each end of the truly colossal tub—their eyes on him as the hot water soothed tired muscles. Once they were seated, Jaskier stepped where they'd both have an excellent view of him. He removed his boots and quickly kicked them aside (no good strip tease included removing one's boots).

Lute calloused fingers flicked at the remaining buttons of his doublet, thumbing them open one... by one... Eskel's eyes went wide when Jaskier's shock of thick chest hair appeared earlier than usual. “No undershirt? You little tart.”

“It's summer,” he said, swinging his hips, putting on a show as he opened the last button. “Besides, do you know how many times I've stripped Geralt to find no undergarments at all? Heathens, the lot of you.” With a little flourish, Jaskier discarded his doublet on the chest at the end of the bed. Not as put away as he'd usually like, but not thrown on the floor like Geralt was wont to do. Eskel managed to untie his breeches completely, so Jaskier turned around, pushing them slowly down his hips.

Eskel and Geralt craned their necks to see more of Jaskier's _assets_. His creamy ass was on full display and Eskel clicked his tongue. “And no small clothes. Maybe Lambert was right, maybe you are a—”

Geralt splashed water in Eskel's face, setting him sputtering. “He hasn't fucked you yet. Keep talking like that and you'll sit back and watch us.” His face was smooth, but there was a warning in his voice. Jaskier was the warm, soft center of their universe now, Geralt would not watch his brothers fall back into crude habits after they'd been on The Path too long.

Under the water, Eskel rubbed his foot against Geralt's. “I'm only playing with him.”

Jaskier swooped around and pressed a kiss to Eskel's neck, taking him off guard... he wasn't used to getting caught out like that. “Play later,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt knows, I don't mind a little dirty talk. Play your cards right...”

He stood up and retreated just as quickly, stealing Eskel's breath in surprise yet again. He retrieved the bag filled with his soaps, oils, balms and bath salts, and placed it on the small table next to the tub. Eskel and Geralt each extended a hand to help him into the water, Eskel's free hand brushing Jaskier's ass, Geralt's petting his thigh.

“Thank you.” He kissed them both, and they tried to ensnare him into more. He splashed water at them. “Don't try to distract me. You wanted me in the tub, I'm in the tub, but you two are still filthy.”

He leaned over the rim of the tub, turning his shapely ass towards the Witchers as he gathered soap and a cloth. “I have soaps for each of you, but I'm going to use one I like for a change.” Producing a light brown bar of soap, he let them both smell it. “Sandalwood. Very masculine. Who wants to go first?”

“I've had you all to myself for months,” Geralt said and relaxed back into the padded rim of the tub—fuck this was a good spell. “Eskel can go first.” True, he had Jaskier's exclusive attention, but that wasn't the true reason...

For Geralt, one of the most exciting parts of Jaskier's attention to the other wolves was watching it unfold. The way his gentle fingers caressed scarred Witcher skin, kissing wounds and twisted noses like they were the most beautiful beings in the world, then imaging those same fingers running over his body... Having Jaskier's attention focused on you and only you was like the sun warming your neck, while watching him dote on another Witcher was like watching the sunrise.

Jaskier worked up a lather and pressed the soapy cloth to Eskel's chest, knees splayed around his hips. Under the water, he felt Eskel's cock brushing against his thigh and tried to ignore it. He wanted so very dearly to touch it, take it in his mouth, any number of things... but if he let himself get distracted, then he might miss a spot. Jaskier liked his Witchers clean, thank you very much, and Eskel was being very helpful, turning when Jaskier asked, lifting his arms and legs, clearly as eager to get to the bed as he was.

Once Eskel was clean and no longer smelled like three days of riding (Jaskier was being generous there) he turned his attention to Geralt. Geralt always took a little more time because of his hair, but Jaskier was pleased to see he'd wet it himself, leaving only the soap and the scrubbing. “Spoiling me?” Jaskier hummed, passing the cloth around the back of his neck to clean the sweat and dirt that gathered there.

Geralt lifted his hands to Jaskier's hips, not pulling, simply holding. “You spoil me,” he said. “Why shouldn't I return the favor?”

Eskel's hand trailed up the back of his shoulder and the other Witcher grunted in reply. “Exactly my thinking. I can't wait until we're done here, then Geralt and I can show our gratitude.”

A shiver ran down Jaskier's spine and he almost dropped the cloth in the bath. His cock, more than half hard, gave a twitch of interest. “Oh... don't distract me.”

They said nothing for the next few minutes as Jaskier washed Geralt. He gave them both one last look over and smiled to himself. “Good, nice and clean. Now we can—ah!”

Quick like a snake, Geralt grabbed Jaskier, pulling him back between his legs, water splashing over the rim of the tub. Jaskier blinked the water out of his eyes and Eskel appeared on top of him, licking his lips like a cat closing in on its prey. “Hmm, yes.” Geralt purred in his ear, nuzzling his face against Jaskier's neck. “We're very clean now, but what about you? Eskel? Do you think Jaskier needs a bath as well?”

“Yes I do.”

Once again, four hands latched on to him, and despite the slippery, soapy water, Jaskier had no hope of escape. They manhandled him onto his hands and knees, straddling Geralt's legs, bent over his chest where Geralt's strong arms held him in place. The water lapped at the swell of his ass and Eskel couldn't help but lick his lips again. In the playful struggle, he ended up with the soap and the cloth and wasted no time putting them to use.

Working up a thick lather, Eskel used one hand to part Jaskier's cheeks, and the other to swipe the soapy cloth between them, brushing gently over Jaskier's hole. “Uh, oh yes...” Jaskier shivered and jerked, his fingers gripping tight to Geralt's biceps. “You could've just... uh fuck, asked. Mmm, if you wanted this.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Geralt stroked his thumb down his cheek, then under those too blue eyes. “It wouldn't be a surprise if we asked to lick your hole in the bath.”

“Lick—oh fuck me,” Jaskier groaned. Eskel's tongue pressed between his cheeks, lapping lightly—almost too light—at his ass. “I like s-surprises.” Another full body shudder ran through Jaskier and only Geralt's strong hold kept him upright as Eskel's tongue flicked and licked inside him. For a while, it looked like Eskel wouldn't be satisfied until Jaskier came from his tongue alone.

With one last kiss to each of his cheeks, Eskel sat up and leaned over Jaskier's back, sandwiching him between their chests, and he felt that hot cock nudging his hole. “Enough for you? Or do you want more?”

Jaskier took a deep breath to steady himself a little. Geralt and Eskel's strong, slow hearts beat against his skin, both tapping the same rhythm, which only managed to make Jaskier hungrier for them. “I want more. In the bed. Because if I die here, in the bath of a magical fuck tent, I will never get over the indignity.”

“So you'd rather die in the bed of a magical fuck tent?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, of course. Old men die in baths, young heroes get fucked to death by a succubus in a bed, don't you listen to any of my songs?”

“Must've missed that one.”

While Geralt was more than happy to relocate to the bed, Eskel tried to wring a few more moments out of their current position. Jaskier pinned between them, his pulse humming bird fast, Geralt's lips and eyes focused so completely on the bard, Eskel wrapped around them both... oh, this was as close to bliss as a Witcher ever got. Add in the warm bath, if Eskel closed his eyes, they were back at the Kaer Morhen hot spring, nothing to demand their attention save a few chores, and training in the mornings. Some days, when Eskel woke alone in the middle of the forest, his skin cold with morning dew, he let his mind drift back to winter, and then he'd curse himself for all the wasted time. Too many weeks staring at Jaskier, wondering how he'd eventually hurt Geralt; if only he'd asked sooner, all three could've spent the lion's share of winter wrapped together.

Deep down, Eskel had always loved Geralt. The words never passed his lips, nor would they—it wasn't their way—but he knew love when he felt it, and what he felt for Jaskier... it wasn't love, but it was so fucking close, it might as well be. Eskel didn't know what to do with that feeling, he tried to forget it, but it made itself known at the worst times, butting up against his love for Geralt and sending his heart reeling, making him want more of Geralt than he knew he should... He wasn't equipped to handle this, luckily, Jaskier was, and with the bard in his arms, they were free to butt up against each other all they liked.

With a bit of a sigh, Eskel kissed the back of Jaskier's shoulder and moved away. “Fine. Into the bed with us.”

“Excellent.” Jaskier kissed Geralt, then Eskel before stepping out of the bath. They followed and he quickly dried them all off, then promptly stopped caring about the rest of the evening. Jaskier did his job—he bathed and pampered them—and now it was up to Eskel and Geralt to decide exactly how they wanted to fuck. Their plans hadn't led him astray so far and Jaskier looked forward to an amazing night.

Tumbling into the bed, Geralt pulled Jaskier down onto his chest, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Eskel, would you like to do the honors? I've had him to myself all summer.”

Another warm body appeared behind him and Jaskier felt Eskel's cock again. Oh, how much he wanted it in his mouth, maybe later when Geralt and Eskel got their fourth wind (bloody virile Witchers). “Why, thank you, Geralt,” Eskel chuckled and ran a hand down one side of Jaskier's neck, teeth nipping lightly at the other. “If that's alright with you, little lark?”

Jaskier leaned into the touch, rolling his hips against Geralt. “I don't care who fucks me first, whoever it is better get started.”

A low growl rumbled in Eskel's chest and two slick fingers pressed at Jaskier's hole. He went to move off Geralt and lay on the bed, but Eskel held his hips in place. “No, like this first,” he growled.

With Geralt spread out underneath him, and Eskel behind, he couldn't help but smirk. “Yes, like the first time. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

The blunt head of a slick cock pushed in, opening Jaskier a little too fast. He gasped, but Eskel's hand on his belly and Geralt's beautiful eyes looking up at him soothed the discomfort away. “Sorry.” Eskel kissed the back of his shoulder. “I've missed you two.”

Geralt reached out, moving past Jaskier to brush his fingers through Eskel's hair. “And we missed you.”

“Mmm, oh yes.” Jaskier grunted, limbs already starting to shake.

Eskel started at an easy pace, but when Jaskier leaned down to kiss Geralt, his thrusts sped up, the hands on his hips gripping a little harder. When they both came and Jaskier collapsed on top of Geralt, Eskel followed him down, sucking bruises into the back of his neck as they watched Geralt tend to himself, his eyes lingering on each of them in turn.

After a quick wipe down, Jaskier found his head in Geralt's lap, too close to just ignore the half hard cock sitting _right there_. Geralt appreciated the kind gesture and placed one hand on the back of Jaskier's neck, the other across Eskel's chest.

By the time Geralt spilled down his throat—a little bit of come dribbling down his chin for Eskel to lick away—Jaskier was ready to go again. Some of the preconceptions about bards as insatiable sex pots were a _little_ true. When Geralt came in him and Eskel on him, Jaskier was truly fucked out. He stumbled over to the bath (which had filled with clean water again, damn, this was an amazing spell) and lay back while Geralt pressed kisses and small bites up and down Eskel's chest.

“Mmm,” Jaskier moaned at the heat of the water. “Geralt, if we ever run into this Keira Metz, remind me to kiss her.”

“She might like that.” Geralt sunk his teeth into Eskel's neck, their hips rolling together until they both came, their shared climax a little less enthusiastic than the first few, but just as satisfying.

“Are you two finally tiring?” In Jaskier's wealth of experience with Witchers, even he was starting to think they never got tired of fucking. It was a blessing until one just wanted to take a nap.

“Maybe.” Geralt rolled them over and spooned up behind Eskel, absently trailing his fingers up and down his side, falling into a pleasant doze.

Jaskier was ready to do the same, the bath was far too warm and comforting not to, but there was one set of yellow eyes still open, still staring at him. While Eskel's gaze softened at Geralt's warm touches, he didn't close his eyes and nap with them.

“Is everything alright?” Jaskier asked.

Eskel shook his head. “You're too far away.”

Though he intended to lounge in the bath a little longer, he could never say no to a pair of yellow eyes. Drying himself off, he returned to the bed, where Eskel's arms quickly surrounded him. Eyes still closed, Geralt moved over to make space between them. With the bonfire-like heat coming off the Witchers, Jaskier expected to need relief sooner rather than later, but the air inside the tent kept him at the perfect temperature. “I really love this tent,” he mumbled as he feel into a light doze.

While he didn't know how long they napped, Jaskier's mind drifted in and out of consciousness, especially when calloused fingers gripped him a little too hard, pulling him too tight. He tried to readjust and get comfortable, but those hands didn't let up. Teeth scraped against his neck—Eskel, probably, not Geralt—and he wiggled again.

“Shush, Jaskier,” Eskel whispered. “Be still.” The slightly rough grip didn't bother him too much and Jaskier did manage to get some rest.

Some time later, Jaskier woke with a grumble from his stomach. He opened his eyes and stretched, finding only one Witcher curled around him. “Where's Geralt?” he asked.

Eskel nodded towards the entrance of the tent. “Went for a piss and to check on the horses.”

He nodded and settled back into the bed. Magically provided food sat still warm and fresh on the table, Jaskier could wait until Geralt got back. He enjoyed dinner with his wolves, he heard the best stories. Eskel kept a loose hold on him, fingers trailing up and down his arm, sliding over a finger bruise every now and again.

“I'm not stupid, you know,” Jaskier said.

Eskel cracked open one eye to find the bard staring right at him and he startled a little before schooling his face into a mask of calm. “I didn't say you were.”

One finely shaped eyebrow arched at him. “Could've fooled me. Did you really not expect me to notice the difference? How tight you hold me when you're looking at Geralt, then how soft your touch is when it's just us? You were like this last winter before you finally admitted you were in love with him.”

Jaskier ran his hand across Eskel's chest, making sure he saw the finger print shaped bruises already blossoming on his shoulders. “I don't mind a little rough. Geralt and Lambert are afraid they'll break me, so it's a nice change, but don't just touch me the way you want to touch _him_. It's not fair to any of us. And whatever you do, don't pull away from him. You two will be together long after I've gone, don't start building walls you can't climb over later.” Those oh so soft fingers continued touching Eskel, dancing along his arms and chest like nothing had changed, like Jaskier hadn't broken open Eskel's most secret thoughts and fears.

“I... I don't—” Eskel tried to protest, but words failed him.

Jaskier smiled up at him, eyes soft and understanding. “You are capable of showing Geralt how you feel, I've seen it, seen you kiss him without me as some sort of buffer between the two of you.”

“That was winter. At Kaer Morhen, it's... different.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “And you don't feel safe showing your emotions outside that lovely old ruin. Where have I heard that before?” He shook his head. “You wolves are all too similar.

“If you still need me as an excuse to be near Geralt, fine. But eventually, you will need to find another one. Don't waste too much time.”

“Fine,” Eskel said. “I'll... think about it.”

He sat up and looked at Jaskier—really looked—for perhaps the first time. Light blue bruises dotted his shoulders and hips, with one too many cherry red love bites decorating his neck and chest. Eskel reached out and Jaskier let him brush gently across each one of them. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize how hard I held you.”

Jaskier shrugged. “It's not as bad as you think. I bruise easy. Besides, most of the bigger love bites are from Geralt.” He pulled Eskel in close, pressing their foreheads together. “None of you are going to break me. My body is not as fragile as your hearts.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier had said the same thing many times last winter, going on and on about how emotionally stunted they all were. Geralt tried to explain that one can't learn how to use feelings one is supposed to pretend don't exist. Jaskier waved the words away, grinning and saying, “I like a challenge.” Well, the bard got a fucking challenge, three of them.

The tent flap opened and Geralt returned, feet bare, breeches half buttoned. “Mmm, isn't that an image,” Jaskier said, licking his lips.

“Fuck later.” Geralt nodded towards the food on the table. “I'm starving.”

“You're always starving.” Jaskier got up anyways, pulling on Geralt's tunic and nothing else. It was much too long on him and brushed pleasingly at the top of his thighs. Geralt secretly loved when Jaskier wore his clothes, it made the bard smell like him, even more so than usual.

Geralt sat in the far too plush dining chair and they all dug in. Jaskier sat right next to him, close enough to lean in or touch whenever the mood struck. The true surprise came from Eskel. Back in the tavern, it made sense for him to keep his distance, but here in the tent, they could touch to their heart's desire. Jaskier knew why Eskel held back, and didn't expect their little talk to change things so quickly... so much was his surprise when Eskel rested on hand on Geralt's knee. Geralt said nothing, of course, and set his hand on top for a moment before retreating.

While Jaskier felt like he might have to teach the lessons of last winter all over again—feelings don't make you weak, big bad Witchers deserve love too, et cetera, et cetera—he had a few days, and Eskel, as always, was a quick study.

~

After a day of walking between the Witchers as they rode, swapping stories and songs, Jaskier had never been happier to make camp. It was a lovely day, to be sure, full of conversation and laughter, but one thought of that beautiful, comfortable bed had Jaskier longing for a rest and the end of the day's journey. And yet, when the journey truly ended, so did their time with Eskel. The feelings warred inside him for prominence.

All his inner turmoil disappeared the second Jaskier walked into their tent. “Oh, I love it here.” Spinning a little, he launched himself onto the bed, sinking into the down soft mattress. “Geralt, why don't we get one of these?”

“Because they're fucking expensive.” Impatient hands pulled at his clothes while Eskel stripped his, then Geralt's armor. Jaskier lay back and let it happen. They were going to manhandle him for the rest of the night, might as well get an early start on it.

When all three were naked, Geralt blanketed over him, Eskel on the bed next to him lounging like a lazy cat, Jaskier decided to put his plan into action. Running his finger along the shell of Geralt's ear, he waited until those yellow eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. “I have something I'd like to try... if you two don't mind indulging me.”

“Why would we mind?” Geralt pushed into Jaskier's hand, silently begging for more soft touches. Eskel merely watched, a beautiful smile across his face, one he'd never wear when Geralt might see it.

Jaskier scratched his nails along Geralt's scalp, sending pleasing tingles all down his spine. He knew how to play his Witchers better than his own lute, and he was not above using that. Glancing at Eskel, he hooked a finger under Geralt's chin, bringing his eyes up. “I miss watching you and Eskel together. You're beautiful when you fuck each other. Put on a show for me?”

“Mmm, sure, I'm game. Eskel? Shall we entertain the bard for a change?”

Sharp eyes found Jaskier's, a slight hint of panic shading them. “I don't know. You don't want to participate? Seems unfair.”

“Eskel...” Jaskier carded one hand through Eskel's hair, meeting his eyes with nothing but softness. “I miss watching you two. You may demand any price from me in return, but I would really, really love to see you two together again.”

And it was true. In the later weeks of winter, when Eskel shed most of his inhibitions and fucked Geralt without Jaskier between them, it was a beautiful sight. Titans of dark and light coming together, crashing into each other in a wave of passion. The way they kissed and touched and pushed each other around, teeth biting while hands caressed, oh... just the memory of it made Jaskier hard.

He arched up into Geralt. “Please. _Please_.”

Eskel closed his eyes and sighed. “How can I refuse such sweet begging?” He leaned in to kiss Jaskier, massaging their lips together in one last bit of sweetness before pushing the bard off the bed. In a show of coordination only Witchers were capable of, Geralt stood up as soon as Eskel pushed, making Jaskier fly out from under him.

He caught himself quickly on one of the bed posts and smirked. “Yes, yes, I understand the rules—I watch, no touching... for now.” When he settled himself in one of the far too comfortable chairs in the tent (turning it to face the bed, of course) Jaskier nodded for them to proceed.

Geralt laughed. “Oh, can we start your show now?” But Eskel's eyes were downright thunderous. Those too quick hands lashed out, seizing Geralt's broad shoulders, dragging him back onto the bed and pinning him before the White Wolf had a chance to respond.

Teeth snapped, capturing Geralt's bottom lip and sucking until the flesh was rosy red. Eskel tried to do the same to his top lip, but Geralt had his bearing back and planted a hand in the center of Eskel's chest, pushing him away. He tackled Eskel down onto the bed and immediately went for his throat, kissing and biting harder than he'd ever touch Jaskier. Eskel could take it. Once, when they were still in training, but old enough to be out of Vesemir's immediate sight line, they boxed each other bloody and Geralt forced Eskel back into the concealing bushes at the corner of the courtyard. Blood dripping from noses, cheeks and lips, he kissed Eskel, savoring the sweet tang of blood and sweat that covered them both.

It was their first kiss and Eskel punched Geralt for his troubles, before lunging at him again, licking the blood away from his split lips and returning this new form of attack. They only had a moment to steal, but oh what a moment. After training, they snuck off to the bunks while most of the other boys were in the library and rutted against each other, desperate to feel the kind touches their harsh lives denied them. Neither of them was very good at it, they were too rough, fumbling for each other under the blankets, and both walked away with more bruises than they got from training, but it was one of Geralt's fondest memories of Kaer Morhen, the first bit of tenderness that came without strings attached.

Biting the top of Eskel's shoulder—hard enough to make him notice, not enough to break the skin—Geralt whispered. “Wrestle you for who gets fucked?”

Eskel smirked. “And the loser gets to name Jaskier's fee?”

“Deal.”

They kept their voices low, too quiet for Jaskier to hear, he probably wasn't paying too great attention anyway. Watching Geralt and Eskel writhe together, each trying to get the upper hand, pleased Jaskier more than he thought it would.

Slick skin, still a little sweaty from the day's traveling, glistened in the magical candle light, muscles bulged as they wrestled. First, Geralt seemed to have the upper hand, he was a little bigger than Eskel (though not by much) and used his strong arms and shoulders to pin the other Witcher down. But in the blink of an eye, Eskel placed a well aimed elbow strike into Geralt's chest, sending him reeling back. A quick tackle and flip, and Eskel had the White Wolf pinned, finger nails digging in to the junction of neck and shoulder, making Geralt wince in discomfort. One glance at his cock told Jaskier that discomfort didn't spread to _other_ areas.

Geralt was quick to strike back, getting one hand behind Eskel's head and pulling him in, tying them both up. Using his strong legs, he flipped them once again, bending Eskel's arm behind his back and forcing him down. He couldn't get the leverage to turn the tables again and growled. Eskel gave one last struggled before conceding. “Fine, you win.”

Geralt released his hold on Eskel's arm, but stayed on top of him, leaning down and pressing his face into Eskel's neck. “Can I fuck you?”

“You won,” Eskel said. “You can do what you like.”

Geralt's tongue ran along the side of his neck, making him shiver. “Yes, but do you want me to?”

For a moment, Eskel said nothing. Keeping his voice low—too low for Jaskeir to hear—he whispered, “Yes.”

“Thank you.” Geralt kissed his neck before sinking his teeth in, biting hard enough to bruise. Eskel's back arched, trying to touch more, feel more, he just wanted _more_.

Geralt retrieved the bottle of oil Jaskier placed within their reach earlier—neither of them saw him do it, the sneaky devil, but they couldn't let him know he got one past them. Still half pinned to the bed, Eskel widened his legs in invitation, grunting when one slick finger slid in. “I can't take more than that,” he growled.

Geralt smirked. “As you wish.” Another smooth digit slid in and Eskel's breath hitched.

After another moment, Eskel grunted. “Don't make me wait.”

“Or me.” Jaskier's voice came in a breathy pant. Watching the two wolves fight and grapple for dominance (yet there was no real loser in this game) made not touching himself harder than Jaskier had predicted. His fingers itched to stroke his cock, getting lost in his own personal floor show...

Geralt, one hand on his cock, the other curled around Eskel's neck, didn't even look up, “If you do anything before we get to you, there will be hell to pay,” he growled. Balling his hands into fists, Jaskier grit his teeth and managed to resist the temptation.

With Jaskier behaving, he focused his attention completely on Eskel. He lined up the head of his cock with Eskel's hole and pushed in, slow, drawing out the sensations neither of them had felt for months. His other hand wrapped around Eskel's neck—not to control or choke, merely to rest and hold—and Geralt pressed biting kisses all over, raising light bruises that would fade before morning. He knew he could never permanently mark Eskel (they all had too many scars, he wouldn't dare be the cause of another) but the fleeting proof of his affection on the other wolf's skin was enough for now.

The smell of sweat, magic, and a light tinge of Jaskier's soaps, lingered all over Eskel's skin, Geralt couldn't get enough of it. As he bottomed out, he pressed his face into Eskel's neck, inhaling deeply. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I've missed your smell.”

Eskel arched into him, baring his throat a little more. Jaskier moaned softly from his chair, but they ignored him. For the first time in months, Geralt had a chance to wrap himself in Eskel so completely. The other Witcher barely allowed this, even during winter in the relative privacy of Geralt's bed. He gave in only once or twice, usually when Jaskier was down in the greenhouse with Vesemir. Eskel let Geralt pull him into bed, whispering soft words of affection into his skin as he sunk his teeth into Eskel's throat, hips rolling, pushing them both to sweet satisfaction. That's how it had to be, Geralt learned that when they were young—for Eskel to accept affection, he needed a harsh counterweight. With a hand around his neck, Geralt's teeth in his skin, and nails digging into his hips, it was enough for Eskel to give himself over.

Geralt rolled his hips faster and faster, building up to a bruising pace. He never got to go all out, not with Jaskier, who was too soft and bruised like a peach. Eskel reveled it in, growling and thrusting back to meet Geralt's hips, the smacking of skin against skin deafening to their heightened senses.

The only thing the legendary Witcher stamina couldn't stand up to was another Witcher. Panting, clawing and biting at each other, Geralt's thrusts were erratic and quick, his hips stuttered and a growl poured out of his chest. Eskel felt the cock inside of him twitch and pulse, sending him over as well. He managed to turn his head and they shared one last biting kiss as their pleasure peaked, then slowly ebbed away.

Silence filled the tent for a few long moments and Geralt used it to wring the last bits of affection out of Eskel. Rubbing his face against Eskel's back, he breathed him in before the other wolf pushed him away. Funny thing was, the moment kept spooling out, silence held taut between them, and Eskel never pushed him away...

When Geralt pulled out and rolled away, Eskel moved back with him, staying close, not as close as Jaskier, who would burrow into Geralt's skin if he had half a chance, but closer than normal... it was nice. “Geralt?” he asked, voice light and playful. “What price do we demand from our bard?”

“I don't know,” Geralt purred, still nibbling at Eskel's neck. He'd go as long as the other Witcher let him. “It is up to you, Eskel, you won that honor.”

“Mmm, thank you, Geralt. I don't believe it should be a light fee, especially when he can't follow the rules.” Two sets of ethereal yellow eyes focused on Jaskier. A lump rose in his throat... he'd been caught, with his hand around his cock, after he promised not to touch...

The sight of Eskel baring his throat hit Jaskier like a punch to the gut. Watching his proud wolves make themselves vulnerable for each other and not just for him, made him go all soft and hard at the same time. His hand slid down to cup his balls before he even thought about it, Jaskier needed to touch, and if he couldn't touch them _yet_ , he'd touch himself. Too bad that was against their agreement.

Of course, Jaskier tried to talk his way out of it. “You're both so handsome,” he said, fingers itching to stroke his cock a little more. “Seeing you together... I couldn't help myself.”

With graceful, cat-like movements, Geralt and Eskel climbed from the bed, circling around Jaskier like they were stalking their prey. In a way, they were. Geralt leaned forward, placing both hands on the arms of the chair, caging Jaskier in. He couldn't see Eskel, but that didn't mean he wasn't around. Warm breath ghosted on the back of Jaskier's neck and he shivered.

“Haven't you heard, little lark? Witchers always collect their fee,” Eskel purred.

“And when a client tries to get one over on us,” Geralt said, “we're inclined to double it.”

Too fast for Jaskier to react, Geralt pulled him from the chair, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When he dropped him on the bed, Eskel was already waiting. Strong hands latched around his wrists, holding his arms over his head while Geralt straddled his thighs. Jaskier was stuck, absolutely immobile, tied down by two wolf gods intent on making him pay. He only hoped they were gentle with him.

Geralt let Jaskier playfully thrash for a moment, and once he was convinced the bard couldn't escape, he turned his attention to Eskel. “What price shall we extract?”

Eskel considered a moment, like he didn't already have a million ideas. “Since he's so bad at keeping his hands to himself, why don't we help educate him in that manner?”

“An excellent idea, do you mind if I go first?”

“Be my guest.”

Jaskier almost sighed at the teasingly cordial conversation. All three of them did it at Kaer Morhen all damn winter, pretending to open doors for each other before slamming them shut, sneaking up at dinner and stealing the last piece of roast before the others could get it, on and on, little boys pranking and annoying their brothers out of boredom. Only this time, they were on the same side with Jaskier as the sole focus of their teasing. He steeled himself for whatever price his Witchers demanded, hoping against hope it wouldn't make his backside too tender to ride tomorrow.

Picking up the same bottle of oil, Geralt poured a line along his cock, making sure Jaskier watched every drop. “Mmm, what's my fee?” Jaskier's voice was already a breathy purr, and soon, Geralt would make him whine and pant with that lovely voice.

“Isn't it obvious?” Geralt said. Already hard again after all his exertions with Eskel, he ran his hand over his own cock, slow at first, spreading the oil until he was slick everywhere. Jaskier bit his lip and Geralt smirked. “Oh yes. We'll teach you to watch properly.”

Jaskier shivered and thrashed again, but there was no real urgency in it, not with the way he arched closer to Geralt, and flexed his fingers to brush Eskel's wrists. They both watched him carefully for any signs of actual discomfort and found none.

Geralt took his time, stroking slowly, from the base of his cock up to the head, then all the way back down again, no short or stuttered strokes to be seen. Jaskier wiggled a little and couldn't find any give. Geralt's weight across his thighs held him down so completely, and Eskel's iron grip on his wrists might as well be made of real iron.

He tried to give a good show at least—he was a bard, pleasing his audience was as natural as breathing. Throwing his head back, he bit his bottom lip, letting a low whine build in his chest. “Please, I'm sorry, I'll always pay my Witchers in the future, but please, let me touch...”

Eskel clicked his tongue. “Touching is what got you into this mess in the first place. Be quiet and take it like a man.” The words were harsh, but the gentle kiss to his wrists spoke more than even Eskel knew. When this was over, all of them satisfied, Jaskier was going to kiss Eskel until he couldn't breathe.

Geralt took a long time to come, even by his normal standards. After fucking Eskel, Jaskier understood the increased stamina, he however, did not have such gifts and was left panting and writhing far too long. When Geralt finally grunted, his hand moving faster, Jaskier opened his mouth, thinking that was the obvious target...

Streaks of come painted his chest and stomach, not a single drop heading towards his open and wanting mouth. Well, maybe Geralt wanted to lick him clean, that was one of his favorite activities. Jaskier waited patiently for Geralt to lean down and finish the job.

But when that devilish smile curled his lips, a little thrill shot through Jaskier's stomach. “Eskel, it's your turn.”

“Much appreciated.”

“What the—” Jaskier struggled and writhed, but the Witchers managed to exchange places without losing their grip on him. Now Eskel sat across his thighs, Geralt's large hands holding his wrists over his head. “Oh, you're fucking kidding me.” Jaskier groaned and thumped his head against the pillow. “You two are horrendous.”

“You'll learn the lesson, then,” Geralt said. “Be glad this is how we teach you.”

They all went still, the reminder of a Witcher's rough childhood suddenly pushing its way into their private moment of enjoyment. Jaskier never asked—he didn't want to bring those memories up—but he could definitely guess. Walking around Kaer Morhen, he saw signs of harsh every day life: chains in odd places, far too many restraint devices pushed away into old store rooms... add in the scars of the battle and Kaer Morhen was a place filled with the ghosts of terrible memories. Jaskier did all he could to smooth out the rough men who emerged from that life.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. “Let go of my wrists. I won't try to get away.” With a final squeeze, Geralt released him. Jaskier pulled himself into Geralt's lap, curling his arms around his back and holding them tight together. It wasn't part of the game, but a little comfort went a long way. Smiling softly, Geralt kissed his hand in thanks.

“Alright,” Jaskier said from his new position. “I'm ready to pay the rest of my fee.”

Using the remaining oil, Eskel started stroking his cock, a little faster than Geralt had done. “Got me worked up again,” he mumbled. His eyes flicked between them and he licked his lips. “Going to cover you, bard, you'll be sticky for days.”

“Promise?” Jaskier arched, moving as much as he could, making sure Eskel saw all of his assets.

Eskel growled when he came, shooting over Jaskier's cock, watching the drops of his spend roll down the side of Jaskier's sac. “Fuck,” he grunted.

“Mmm, yes.” Jaskier slumped back into Geralt's lap. He was still hard and definitely wanting, but watching Eskel and Geralt's satisfaction filled him with happiness. Contentment pooled in his belly and it was almost all he needed... almost. “So, when's my turn?”

Neither man answered him (it was becoming a pattern) and they switched places again, Eskel cradling Jaskier's head in his lap, and Geralt between his legs. That wicked sparkle in his eye was back and before Jaskier knew it, a warm tongue started licking fucking _everywhere_.

Geralt started licking across his stomach, then moved down to what Eskel left before taking Jaskier's cock in his mouth and finishing the job. It didn't take long at all, not with the previous entertainment. They all collapsed onto the bed in a sated pile. Jaskier was perfectly happy to stay there for the rest of the night when a loud growl from Geralt's stomach disturbed the peace and quiet.

“Good idea,” Eskel said, pulling them both over to the table.

The rest of the night was fairly sedate and Jaskier drifted off while watching Geralt press kisses to every inch of Eskel's skin.

~

The third day of their journey was odd, at least, Jaskier felt a change. With Geralt, if they were less than a day from their destination, he picked up the pace, trying to reach a town before nightfall, always impatient to start work. But today, both Witchers were... slower than normal. They walked their horses, conversing lightly as Jaskier walked between them. Yes, this was definitely slower. It appeared neither of them actually wanted to get to this contract.

They stopped to make camp much earlier than usual and Jaskier knew there would be more travel in the morning. But the way Eskel and Geralt looked at each other—hungry eyes imagining the body underneath the armor, desperate to make up for lost time—they definitely needed to stop. While Jaskier wouldn't mind, they might be a little embarrassed if he let it go long enough for Geralt to lunge at Eskel in the middle of the road.

This time, Jaskier didn't have to prod Eskel at all. As soon as the tent flap closed behind them, he stripped himself and Geralt, pushing him back on the bed and leaving Jaskier to his own devices for the moment. Kissing and biting—much softer than last night—Eskel climbed between the White Wolf's legs. Jaskier lounged at the end of the bed, occasionally letting his hands brush either of his Witchers, but mostly staying out of it. They'd come to him when they wanted to.

With his hand around the back of Eskel's head, fingers curled in his hair, Geralt held them together, sharing their breath, kissing chapped lips. They moved together smooth and fluid, the same as when they fought—all hard lines and angles, but graceful and flowing.

Eskel's hips stuttered and he growled, thrusting into Geralt one last time, sinking his teeth into his neck as he came. Geralt raked his nails down Eskel's back, spilling between them. Both were panting and a little bruised and Jaskier had never seen them happier. Before Eskel pulled away, Geralt captured him in one last kiss.

Eskel rolled off, but stayed close, one arm draped over Geralt. “Have we neglected you?” he asked, eyes still tracing down Geralt's body, looking his fill.

Not wanting to intrude, Jaskier leaned against the bedpost. “If you're enjoying yourselves, I'm enjoying, I don't need more than your happiness.”

Geralt groaned and Eskel rolled his eyes. “Fucking come here.” Two strong arms pulled him in and settled him between them. A slick finger pressed against his hole and Geralt shimmied down the bed, taking Jaskier into his mouth without even a by-your-leave.

They made quick work of him, Geralt sucking his cock like he was trying to swallow Jaskier's soul, and Eskel fucking him like it was their last night on earth. After the two previous nights, Jaskier didn't have much left in him and collapsed the second they released him, limbs numb. “I think I'm out of shape for this,” he said.

With his head pillowed on Geralt's chest, he felt the chuckle more than heard it. “We'll have to step up your training regime to get you ready for winter.”

They all fell asleep in a pile, Geralt pinned between Jaskier and Eskel for a change. For the first time, Jaskier was happy he didn't have to be the buffer Eskel needed, in this tent, he was safe to show his love. If only Jaskier could make the rest of the world as safe.

They said their goodbyes the next morning. True, they still had a bit of road ahead, and Geralt and Eskel were working the contract together, but Jaskier wasn't an idiot, it wouldn't be like this again, not until winter. Inn rooms weren't safe, they weren't free from pricked ears overhearing secrets the Witchers didn't want to tell, or evil eyes at hidden peepholes. So he sat back and watched his wolves, dressed in full armor, as they kissed and touched their last.

Geralt cupped both hands around Eskel's jaw, holding him tight, he wouldn't escape, not until Geralt wanted to let him go. He took his time, licking into Eskel's mouth, memorizing the taste of him. Despite the sandalwood soap Jaskier used, a hint of the lilac and grass hung around Eskel, merging with the tinny magic scents he'd exuded since boyhood. There were a few people Geralt could track across time itself—Yennefer, Jaskier, and Eskel—and in his heart, he knew it was love that bound him to them. He liked to think Eskel felt the same, even if he didn't say the words.

When they finally parted, Jaskier slid between them, but his attention was for Eskel alone. Pulling their foreheads together, their eyes locked. “However long this contract lasts, I'm glad we had these few days for you to be with _him_. In a perfect world, I'd never see you hold back from him, but the world is far from perfect. If you need me to... be the connection, between you, I will. But please—don't hold back this winter. We'll all be safe behind stone walls, you'll be free to love him as much as I love all of you.”

Eskel didn't speak at first. He gathered Jaskier close, kissing him deeply. “Thank you,” he whispered when he pulled back. “I will... do my best.”

They separated and Jaskier took a moment to smooth his rumpled clothing. No matter how sincere and emotional he tried to be, the wolves always brought out his baser, lustful habits. It would be annoying if they weren't all so up for it.

Taking one last look at the magical tent that would cease to be as soon as they stepped out, Jaskier held back a sigh. They started on the road and Jaskier saw the next few days playing like a theatre piece in his mind: when Eskel and Geralt bested whatever beast they were sent after, he'd bathe them, lavishing attention on each man in turn, bandaging their wounds if needed. After they were both clean and sparkling, they'd take turns on him, one sitting away from the bed, their eyes locked with each other as Geralt fucked him. When Eskel's turn came, he'd lick the sweat off Jaskier's skin, tasting the lingering traces of Geralt, dreaming of winter, when they could be together again.

Out here in the harsh world, Jaskier didn't mind being the link between them. If Geralt and Eskel could only touch each other through him, if that's what made them happy—or at least, less miserable—he'd do it, for the rest of eternity if the gods allowed.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Keira Metz is a mage and she's described as "fond of luxury" and having a distaste for the outdoors. I figured if anyone had a magical tent, it would be her. I play DnD and Pathfinder, so the idea of the tent having three "charges" left comes from there. In D20 RPGs, you can usually get magical items--like wands--that have a certain number of charges, so you can only cast the spell 50 times before it stops working. The more charges, the more expensive the spell.


End file.
